Memories and Reunions
by Ryo19
Summary: Solo's not as dead as Duo believes


**Memories and Reunions.**

By Ryo.

Disclaimer: I don't own Gundam Wing. This is a shame because I would really enjoy having five cute boys at my beck and call twenty four hours a day.

Authors note: I apologise for the accents. I was aiming for a southern drawl but I think I missed and got a Northern English one (Manchester area) instead. Gomen.

"It feels pretty weird to be talkin' about everythin' now, but I got ta do it, 'course I know ya. Ya gonna want an explanation for it all 'cause a lot of it I don't think ya even remember. An' don't even try ta deny it ta make yourself look less stupid. There ain't no shame in forgettin' and 'sides, ya were little at the time most of it happened. And before ya ask or try to apologise or whatever, don't.

I ain't mad and there's nothin' in the world ta forgive. Ya did me proud after all, kept me memory alive and shit kid, ya wiped out two entire armies.

Ain't every day that someone can stand up and say they raised the God of Death, if ya know what I mean? Damn but I am proud of ya boy, of the man ya've become, an' although I would have loved ta have had ya around longer than I did, I'm glad that ya managed without me.

I figured I'd make a recordin' of it all on my way ta see ya, which is why there's engine noise in the back ground. I'm on a sweeper ship by the way, 'cause when I said I wanted ta head to Earth ta met up with ya, this dude called Howard pretty much dragged me outta the queue, interrogated me then offered me a lift, as well as addin' a threat that if I wasn't who I said I was, he'd personally make it so I'd have ta be reclassified as a woman.

I didn't think he expected me ta laugh in his face but it musta proved somethin', 'cause here I am. An' may I say kid; I like ya choice in uncles.

Howie's a pretty cool bloke and I'm damn glad ya had someone like him around keepin' an eye on ya. He filled me in a bit on ya past but weren't too specific, an' he loved some of my stories about ya, but don't worry, I left out the embarrassing ones.

But enough with the sentimental stuff huh? This is about what happened, not about what an emotional pratt I can be at times. So where to begin? A good question considering I ain't seen ya in eight long years and don't know what ya remember.

So let's start with the most obvious thing. I'm Solo, and if ya don't remember who I am then I'm gonna smack ya one.

Okay, second thing. I ain't dead. Ya may have already worked this out 'cause of the fact I'm breathing and all, but knowin' how thick ya can be at times, I'll just make it absolutely clear. Ya can even check me pulse if ya want.

This fact that I'm alive an' all kinda leads to my third point. I didn't die of the plague, hence the entire bein' alive thing. Came bloody close to it though. Few more hours and I woulda been rat foot, but this reporter lady found me just in time an' took me ta hospital. But that comes in later. Now we've covered the key points I'll get on with it, an' I'll even start at the most logical place, the beginning. Or more precisely, yours.

I found ya when ya was three, or there about as close as I could figure it, on the seventh of March, after colony one eight three, according ta a newspaper I found. I found ya in an alley way in district two, low side, eatin' out a knocked over rubbish bin.

Now, there ain't no not embarrassin' way of sayin' this so I'm just gonna go for it. Beside's ya cute when ya blush, cuter than ya normally are anyway. Okay, here it is. Kid, at age three, ya thought ya was a cat. Yes, a cat. Ya know, four legs, fur, goes meow? Yeah, one of those.

It's kinda funny lookin' back on it, but damn was it a pain in the butt at the time. Not that I blame ya for thinking it. From the look of the alley I'd say that ya'd been there a while, more than a couple of months at least. Musta been abandoned too, most likely cause ya folks had too many mouths ta feed or maybe they were just evil bastards.

But blood don't mean much to us, huh kid? Families are things ya make, not things ya born in ta. Besides, all us street rats have been kicked out by the people who should love us, tain't nothing ya can help and it's not somethin' ya should dwell on too much.

I was about nine when I found ya, which is why I must be ancient ta ya now, pushing twenty as I am. Gonna need a walkin' stick soon.

I was runnin' from a street vender who had 'gifted' me with some apples when I turned in ta ya alley. Gives me goose bumps ta think what might of happened if I'd taken a different route. I'd go spare if ya hadn't been part of me life. So I turned an' there ya was, naked as the day ya was born and utterly filthy, a stale roll clenched in one hand.

Now, needless ta say I terrified ya, crashing onto ya home turf like that, with no warnin' or nothin'. Ya ran off ta hide behind one of the bins while I just stood there, like a moron, starin'.

Course, it ain't everyday, even on L2, that ya turn a corner an' find somethin' like that. Well, no one followed me round, so I figured the vender had given up, so I just settled meself, comfortable like, on the ground and started in on an apple.

Ya were a curious little thing even back then, an' despite the threat, ya crawled outa ya hidey hole ta have a sniff at what had invaded ya domain.

Took about five pieces of apple ta get ya close enough that I could snag a hold of ya and get a good look. All I really saw was dirt, slime and god know what. Ya smelt of rubbish strong like and ya hadn't bathed in ages. Ya hair was past ya chin and so matted that any hair stylist would collapse outta fright and ya was painfully thin, ta the point I coulda counted every bone in ya body.

So there I was, feedin' ya apple slices an' thinking ta myself that there was no possible way I was gonna leave ya there ta starve or worse. Hell, it was a miracle that ya'd lasted as long as ya had alone. I could see the talent for survival in ya, despite your lack of years.

So I decided ta take ya with me, make ya me side kick or somethin'. But I sorta dreaded tryin' ta make ya leave ya little alley way. Turned out that I was worrin' over nothin', 'cause when I stood up ya decided ta follow. But then ya were never one ta let potential sources of food outa ya sight.

Even back then I had connections with some gangs and brokers, thieves have ta have the later ta survive and the former come as a bonus. The gangs of district three knew I was neutral, unlike a loada other kids. And they knew I'd help out any member of any gang if they was injured or bein' chased so long as that gang helped me out in turn and left me outa their fights.

The deal worked out pretty well, especially after I gutted the leader of the 'Blocks' and left his body in the square where they met. Sorta proved ta 'em that I wasn't a push over. My fellowship with the gangs meant sometimes I could use some of their stuff.

Now the 'Spacers' was another gang that were good friends 'a mine ever since I broke Tri, their leader, away from the grasp of the law and took a lot of heat 'cause of it. Tri owed me big and ta repay the favour let me use his quarters ta shower and sleep when the weather was bad. So I took ya ta his place and walked right in ta one of their gang meetin's with this little runt on all fours behind me, minus clothin'.

Ya may remember their gang, if ya remember anythin' from that time. A lot of 'em went under ta the plague and the Alliance wiped out the rest, but they were good people and every one of 'em loved an' fussed over ya. They was a bit shocked at the sight of ya ta say the least.

Most really little kids don't stay on the street long after all, they either die or get picked up by a copper and taken ta an orphanage. Of course, this was all before the Alliance really came. They had a small out post on L2 but nothin' major. The Alliance changed everythin'.

Anyway, after the shock died off, Tri let me use their bathroom ta clean ya up and he even gifted ya with one of his old T-shirts. Some of 'em even went so far as ta offer ta take ya in themselves, or at least take ya to an orphanage but I declined on all offers. Ta tell the truth, the idea of a side kick had started ta grow on me. Ya know, someone ta be an apprentice of sorts, ta pass on all me worldly knowledge ta.

So I bathed ya, which took a damned long time, cut ya hair and clothed ya before takin' my leave of the Spacers little met up joint and carried ya back ta me hide out.

Now this is where I'd like ta say my hide out was real cool, in an underground cave like Batman's, or in a massive school like the X-men, even in a tree like Robin Hood. But I may run, and I may hide, but I don't lie.

Truth was, I had quite a lot of hide outs, and many where just dry shielded spots where ya could duck in to ta escape a chaser. This one was an old access tunnel, abandoned when the colony had been finished and originally intended for access ta the ground level systems without exposure to vacuum, back in the days before the outer hull had been completed, when only the core was pressurised.

It had been forgotten ages ago, after the equipment it had stored was torn out. It started as a crawl way that went down under an abandoned buildin' an' ended in a small alcove which was high enough for someone ta stand up in, but only about two meters by three. Small but hidden, the entrance was covered by rubble an' a rusted metal hatch that I'd devote two days to breakin' open usin' a brick.

Nothin' special really, except that the room was still connected ta the colonies heating ducts that provided the upper levels with their central heating. No matter how cold it was outside, it was always warm there an' safe.

And there was where ya stayed most of the time, 'sides a few trips out during the day when the streets were safe. I kept ya there despite offers from the Spacers ta baby-sit ya, cause there always baddie in every group. I taught ya ta walk upright an' speak as well as a few other traits ya was lackin' that every human, even urchins should be capable of. And then started ta teach ya ta survive.

Can ya still remember the first rule, kid? Ya should, I had ya repeat every single rule before I let ya eat each night. Come on, after me.

'If ya ever unsure, run'

Ya can't go wrong with runnin', it's a good response to anythin' that might be harmful, cause if ya ain't there then ya can't get hurt. Ya remember the rest of it?

'Keep runnin' till Solo tells me ta stop'

Hm, I've missed those repetitions over the years. It's been too long since I last heard ya drawl those words, frustrated but willin' ta humour me.

Ya musta been about four when I took ya out ta hunt wallets for the first time. I had stole some kid sized clothes an' even shoes for ya and me both, and we did the lost kid routine in the high street of one of the upper regions.

God, did we make a killin'. Two hundred dollars in one day, and a watch to satisfy Davey, me broker. We didn't have ta steal again for a week and we ate better than we had for a while.

The routine, like any other didn't last long though. Word gets around, people recognise ya, clothes get dirty an' torn. I taught ya ta be as good a pick pocket as yours truly. Taught ya ta take a watch from some high classer without it ever being noticed and as soon as ya learnt that, Davey started ta like ya.

But that was back in the good old days as I said, before the Alliance and before the plague. Ah, the good times, when the vender's left boxes 'a damaged items ta one side for us urchins ta grab and where the coppers would ignore us or at the worst take us ta an orphanage.

And orphanages were easy ta escape from, some staff even helped by explainin' the pros an' cons of stayin', then leavin' the window open for us ta decide. I've been in orphanages with out count over the years kid, couldn't stand 'em.

'Sides, L2 ones are just glorified work camps, but then not everyone's cut out ta survive the streets. There are worse fates.

Time went by, like it does. Days were pretty much the same. We stole, we ate or sometimes didn't, dependin' on our success. We avoided the dangers of the street or at times fought them off. Drunks, perv's, other thieves to lazy ta steal properly, all the slime on the street has experienced the edge of me blade at some time. Even its former owner.

I taught ya ta read, 'cause knowledge is power, taught ya ta fight cause ya brain won't get ya out of everything and the block who said the pen is mightier than the sword had no fuckin' clue. Unless he meant ya ta stab someone with the pen…naa.

I taught ya everythin' I knew, not just street stuff but other stuff to, stuff that maybe could get ya off the streets. Like I said, time passed.

The Alliance got stronger by the month until it was the military that ruled L2, not the upper class that exploited us poverty stricken lower classer, controlling us through their control of food and water supplies.

Instead everythin' came under marshal law. Food supplies were decreased as soldiers' pilfered food ta keep their own supplying costs down, 'causing prices ta soar. They also declared transport between the colonies as prohibited; killin' L2's industry, for the entire colony was devoted to building space craft for transport an' trade.

Lots lost their jobs an' their homes. The streets started gettin' crowded an' people started to starve. Crime shot through the roof an' when the military ordered the thieves ta be arrested, the coppers refused.

Said they wouldn't punish people just because they didn't wanna starve. So the coppers were removed an' soldiers took their place on the streets.

Soldiers who enjoyed usin' force and abusin' people rights. Before they came, L2 was still pretty bad off, but at least we were still free, we were still human.

The Alliance took away all that. Those that resented the changes and enforced poverty rebelled and the lower districts were reduced ta war. Conflicts between gangs as old as the colony itself were set aside in the struggle against the Alliance, leadin' ta riots and street combat.

It went on for weeks, time which we spend hidin', venturin' out only for scraps from nearby bins, our only source of food what with the vender's no longer braving the streets. Apparently, the Alliance felt the entire thing was not goin' ta their pleasin', so they got their white coated bastards together and pretended ta be God by releasin' a plague upon us.

It spread quick; jumpin' from person ta person after several prisoners had been infected and released. It didn't produce a quick death neither, for it was a lingering thing, first starvin' ya then tearin' up ya lungs till ya could no longer draw breath. It took Davey a week ta die from it.

'Course, there was a cure available. Ten dollars an injection, one injection for permanent immunity. The catch? Ya had ta show id and the only way ya could get id was ta show the Alliance soldiers that ya owned a house and had a job. A plague ta kill off all the excess population, all the street dwellers.

Soon, even the toughest of us was dead or dying. Bodies were everywhere and the rats were havin' a field day. There weren't no one ta pay for burials either or markers, so the bodies were collected on trucks or in the trays of bull dozers by soldiers in bio suits and ejected out in ta space like so much trash.

Christ, I hope the bastards responsible are burnin' in hell for it, right there beside Judas in the 9th realm, bein' punished by Lucifer himself.

I was real worried that I might lose ya to it, but I didn't havta worry. In all the time we were together you ain't ever been sick, not once, must be immune ta damn near everythin'.

Shame I wasn't too, otherwise I'd still be with ya, would a been able ta raise ya up the way I wanted. But then ya'd have never freed us all, so I guess fate had her reasons for separatin' us.

I got the plague.

I survived seven years on the streets, against the worst trash that humanity had ta offer, only ta be brought low by a damn germ. I hated it. I got it three weeks after the first out break and ignored the feelin' of impeding doom for three days before I started coughin' blood. I don't recommend it by the way. The word 'pain' doesn't begin ta describe it.

Ya got all worried, started on some insane idea about stealin' some of the cure. I think I tried ta talk ya out of it but most of the few days after it set in are pretty hazy.

Some of the rebels that the plague was really targeted at had already tried ta raid the cure stations scattered around the colony, first secretively then when that failed, with a head on assault.

Both tries had been unsuccessful and had suffered major casualties. I doubted a seven year old would stand a better chance. But ya musta tried anyway cause I woke up where I had collapsed in an alley way alone, me knife gone and your one in me arm sheath instead.

I was glad ya at least had a decent weapon with ya, not that it would be much use against a gun. I remember lyin' there for a time, contemplatin' death and that thirteen was way too young ta die, before drifting out of it again.

Dunno how long I was out of it for. At least four days, or so Rebecca figured it. She was a reporter, and still is, and was doin' a humanitarian article about life on the streets when she found me collapsed in the alley.

She had her camera man carry me ta L2's hospital and even paid for me ta be treated. The doctors didn't want anythin' ta do with me at first but she threw around the name of her broadcast station and turned on the camera an' the doc's relented.

Gave me the cure and patched me up best they could. Me lungs never really recovered though. I can still run an' everythin' but it hurt ta and they ache in cold weather.

It took me a while ta accept that Rebecca had honestly cared enough ta save me an' didn't have an alternative motive. Ta pay her back I did an interview, told her what livin' on the streets was like and how much worse it was 'cause of the Alliance.

Even told her about ya. While we was travellin' around, takin' footage of everythin' like bodies an' stuff I looked for ya.

I checked every hidey hole, our main base, everywhere I could think that ya might go, despite rumours that several urchins had been executed while attempting ta penetrate the cure stations. I tried everythin' but I couldn't find ya.

Rebecca figured ya'd either been killed or taken in by an orphanage somewhere an' that she'd help anyway possible ta help find ya. She did to, even though ya didn't have no name ta trace. But we couldn't find anyone matching ya description, not even when Rebecca consulted the soldiers that had dealt with the urchins. So I figured ya must have managed ta get off L2 somehow.

But I know better now, since I talked ta Howie. See kid, churches aren't technically orphanages, so they don't come under the same record system. They offer sanctum, not a permanent home normally, which is why I never found ya. Churches don't keep records of the children under their care; in order ta protect them from the Alliance that would most likely relocate them ta work houses, where they can make ammunition.

I'm sorry. Words can't express how sorry.

When Rebecca and her crew left, they took me with them, after I'd left instructions in our hide out as ta how ta contact us if ya ever came back. She distracted the soldiers sent ta check on us with fake interviews an' showed the officers in charge a false report that put the Alliance in the best possible light. Neither noticed that an extra person left and neither thought ta check the camera, which contained the real tape.

I left L2 behind, hopin' ta all that was holy that I'd find ya waitin' for me when we landed on L4 but no luck. Fate an' all that jazz again. But I'm comforted now that ya were at least being cared for at Maxwell church, even if ya time there ended in tragedy. We landed and the tape was aired on the news an' near caused a public out cry.

I went ta a lota interviews, some live, some not, ta speak further on my experience an' even under went a lie detector test ta prove ta the sceptics that I weren't lyin'.

Even spoke ta Mr Winner hisself, who promised that somethin' would be done ta relieve that situation. I spoke of ya again, asked that if ya saw the program that ya find a way ta contact me so I could save ya, but I don't think they ever aired the program on L2. Couldn't picture that the Alliance was too pleased.

Later, when I was sixteen I even spoke ta Vice Minister Dorlian about conditions on L2 and the damage that the Alliance was inflictin' so that he could get a decent idea, as transport ta L2 had been banned apart from ta Sweepers.

Not even the Alliance had the balls ta piss of the Sweepers, not when they had a fleet of over a hundred large ships that could easily be altered to be made battle ready.

Rebecca adopted me in a way. She was rich an' lived in a big house, so I sorta kept her company. She was a widow and had always wanted children, but never really wanted to face the entire potty training stage.

I went ta school an' worked as a 'goffer' on the weekend an' at holidays ta pay back her kindness. She's quite a lady and she wants ta met ya, if ya willin' but we'll talk about that later.

I put out searches on every colony and even on Earth for someone matchin' ya description, cause purple eyes aren't all that common and a life on the streets provides a good number of identifyin' scars, but every single one came up with nothin'.

By that time though I guess ya were with Howie and G, learnin' ta be a Gundam pilot. Damn, pilotin' a gundam must be fun an' I love the name ya took. Death is after all somethin' all urchins are familiar with. I don't really believe in God, I ain't seen many miracles, no matter what priests might claim.

But I've seen one though, while I was workin' at the station, doin' paper work for Rebecca's boss.

I'd been workin' at the station full time since I left college an' I weren't too eager for Uni, no matter the opportunities it would give. Besides, I had bad school records. My grades were excellent but I'd got myself in ta lots of fights an' even got in trouble for carryin' a concealed weapon.

Rebecca forgave me an' knows I have my knife everywhere I go. It disturbs some of the other staff but the boss decreed it okay after some loony broke in an' tried ta rape one of the presenters.

After a few minutes of 'technical difficulties' an' a demonstration of street fighting, boss man decided he actually liked me ta be armed and offered me a security job, so I do that too. But I'm gettin' off the point.

I was nineteen at the time of the miracle and it was about three months since the start of the war. I looked across to where some co-workers where watchin' a Oz propaganda broadcast and low an' behold, who did I see.

It was my little kid, my side kick, all beat up and standin' in chains between two soldiers who were declaring him ta be none other than a gundam pilot.

And those Oz bastards were daring ta sentence MY kid ta death.

One of the staff even dared say they supported the idea. I think everyone in the station was a bit confused when I broke the bastards nose and was about ready ta remove his claim on masculinity. Rebecca talked me out of it an' she got the reasonin' behind it all once I pointed ya out.

Damn kid! Eight years an' when I finally find ya its on Inter sphere TV about ya up comin' execution.

I always knew ya lead me ta a heart attack, but nineteen's a little young for one. Well, anyway, I was half way packed, ready ta head for where ever they was keepin' ya, ta go bust ya out when we heard of ya escape.

I gotta say, I was relieved ta hear it too. As good a thief as I am, havin' kept up an' even improved on me skills, I don't think they'd be enough ta get me in ta your jail, especially not armed with just ya glass shard knife.

But it didn't matter 'cause ya was still alive! And ya had a name. Duo Maxwell. I didn't get the last bit until Howie explained about the church, but I understood the first and kid, I'm honoured.

I was always meanin' ta give ya a name an' after all those years searchin' for ya I had wished a thousand times that I had got round ta it. But I could never think of one that fit ya just right.

But Duo is a good name an' I'm proud that ya decided ta take it and pleased that ya used it ta remember me.

And ya had grown up to. Ya was beautiful, even with the bruises. And I love the braid. Must be useful for lock pick storage.

But I'm gettin' off the point again. I had found ya. And lost ya again as soon as ya escaped. I watched the news every day afterwards. Even programmed my laptop ta come on and display any news to do with the Gundams or the war.

I watched and cheered ya on when ya escaped the moon. Swore and bit me nails when ya took on Barge and Ephyon. And I gotta say kid. That final battle against the Libra near as killed me.

All the while I was prayin' that ya would survive an' win so that ya could settle somewhere where I could finally find ya. Eight years of not knowin' if ya were alive or dead final endin' in knowin' ya was alive but not being able ta reach ya.

When ya brought both Oz an' White Fang crashin' to their knees I was already packin' ready ta leave L4 an' go ta Earth where all ya G-pilots were settin' up a new government with the help of that Relena person.

I left three days after the destruction of Libra as it took that long for the final outposts of resistance ta surrender and the space ways ta be reopened ta all for the first time in years.

I spent the three days in the space port, waitin' so I could leave on the first available shuttle. I met Mitch, a sweeper that ya know, in the café there an' we got ta talkin'. When he found out who I was, or at least claimed ta be, he dragged me off ta be interrogated by Howie.

I apparently gave the correct answers ta him, 'cause here I am, an hour away from atmosphere an' about ta step foot on the Earth for the first time. But seeing our home planet is nothin' ta the chance of seein' ya again kid.

I'm gonna stop now. The area around the Earth is pretty heavy with debris and Howie wants all the crew strapped down in five minutes in case of an impact.

I know its strange ta have recorded this all for ya, but I know that as soon as I see ya I'm not gonna be able ta string together a complete sentence, so it can provide a few answers while I recover my ability ta talk.

I missed ya kid. There ain't words enough in any language ta describe how much and I love ya too. Love everythin' that ya were an' everythin' ya've become. I hope that perhaps I can become a part of ya life again, even if it's at a distance."

Solo clicked off the small hand held voice recorder as he stood and left the small cabin that Howard had kindly lent him for the five hour trip from L4 to the Earth.

He pushed off at the door and using the hand rail to guide himself, he floated down the narrow corridor toward the passenger and crew strap down area, where the rest of his belongings were safely stored.

He floated in to the compact but well armoured room that would act as an emergency escape pod in case of disaster and nodded to Howard who sat at the helm of the carrier ship before strapping in the way he had been taught on his few previous space trips.

The ship was running with only a skeletal crew as most of the sweepers were either re-establishing trade, repairing the Peace million or working to clear the debris that made entering Earth atmosphere dangerous for all but the most skilled of pilots.

Even crews grounded long ago by the Alliances decrees were cleaning the dust off of their old ships and launching in order to aid in the operation.

Despite the damage time had done to their skills in piloting, their presence was useful to the effort as they freed sweeper ships from mundane trading tasks and made them available for more challenging duties.

Even just a week after the victory, L2 ship yards were being re-opened with help from Winner Corporation. The job markets were flourishing once again as demand for new ships or repairs to old ones rolled in now that transport was once again permitted.

In the front display screen loomed the orb of blue and green that had first spawn humanity, a sight marred only by the presence of the MO3 satellite that was now acting as a temporary Sweeper base now that survivors of the battle had been collected and evacuated.

Solo smiled at the view as he hit the rewind button on the recorder, wondering if down upon that green and blue orb Duo was looking up at the sky, maybe right at him. Just one more hour…

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Duo was bored, and a bored Duo, as his fellow pilots will tell you, is a dangerous thing indeed. A bored Duo tends to go seeking entertainment for himself, either by irritating said fellow pilots until they provided a form of entertainment, or worse, seeking more imaginative forms of stimulation.

The later, for any one possessing common sense is normally a natural and safe process that involves resorting to a hobby, such as painting, hiking or one of many other constructive activities. However, as Duo's hobbies included paint-balling innocent passers-by on the base, blowing things up and setting up elaborate practical jokes, this type of entertainment was discouraged by both the other pilots and the base commander, who happened to be Sally.

So, bored and having already annoyed Wufei to the point that the Chinese teen was running out of Chang family ancestors to curse him by, Duo had resorted to his only really constructive hobby, which was up grading his weapon of mass destruction, more aptly named Death Scythe.

The hanger had quickly turned in to a pilot hang out area and all five of them were there, even though only Duo and Heero had determined that it was worth their time and effort to up grade their Gundams, despite the era of peace that had descended.

The other three had been happy to merely repair the damage inflicted by the last battle before hanging up their tools and relaxing for the first time in more than six months.

At that moment Heero sat with his lap top, analysing Wing Zero's response rates while Duo installed an even better jamming system to the electric guitar rifts of 'We are the Champions' that Death scythe's audio systems had been pumping out every hour since their victory.

Trowa and Wufei were sitting cross legged on several blankets spread about to make the hangers concrete floor more bearable, playing an immensely mentally strenuous game of hangman, having already tired of chess.

On a sea of pillows to their left Quatre was sprawled out on his back, wearing a pair of dungarees for the first time in his life, as his slacks irritated his healing stomach wound.

He was deeply immersed in the adventures of Huckleberry Finn that Noin had kindly lent him once he had exhausted all of his own and the other pilots reading matter. He'd even been desperate enough to battle through several of Duo's Batman comics before he gave up on the inane plots lines and turned to a former enemy in order to be saved.

Because of this state of boredom induced by a sever lack of an enemy, let alone any missions, all five took great interest in the sound of a shuttle touching down on the runway close by.

This event was not common as the base was under strict rules regarding air space as it currently housed the people who would soon be used to construct the first true earth and space government, which included representatives from each colony and recognised each countries and colonies right to self rule within set boundaries.

In fact only three shuttles were permitted to land here without the direct permission of all five pilots and Sally. And as Relena was already on base for the talks and Rashid was on MO3, overseeing the clearance of the atmosphere, it left only one other person.

"Howie's back with those parts ya need Heero." Duo called over the softer classical music that 'Scythe's computer had cued up on Quatre's request. Over in Wing Zero's cockpit Heero glance over to where Duo was balanced and scowled.

"I have ears baka." He growled, before his eyes flicked back to the data displayed on his screen, which seemed to only displease him further.

"Really? Couldn't see them under that mop ya call hair." Duo bit back, rolling him eyes dramatically at the other boy. "Man Heero, just 'cause 'Lena's been droolin' all over ya all day doesn't mean ya can take it out on us."

"Duo. Relena is royalty. She doesn't drool." Wufei snapped up to the braided teen, who raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah? What's she do then?" He asked.

"She salivates longingly." Quatre cut in quickly before the Chinese boy could draw breath to answer. Coal eyes flickered to meet sea green in a disapproving frown before Wufei opened his mouth to speak.

"Howard. With a stranger." Trowa said softly, interrupting Wufei's rant yet again as he guided the attention of his fellows toward the huge sliding doors that stood open, where a small figure in a hideous Hawaiian shirt was leading in a taller man.

All five of them were instantly on the alert, although they were discrete about it. Heero's hand dropped to his faithful gun, Trowa slipped a throwing knife out of its sheath that rested on his calf, Duo switched off the welder he was using and quickly abseiled down from 'Scythe's arm to the floor.

"You boys look bored out of your minds." Howard called out, walking closer both he and his companion came within range of both weapons. "But don't worry; I've got the parts to get Zero here back to a hundred percent after his atmosphere dive, which will give you all something to do."

"Cool." Duo called back, walking forward to meet the two boldly. "Want me ta look the parts over."

"Later kid, first I want you to give this guy here a once over." Howard commanded, gesturing toward the man beside him. Wufei chuckled at the comment.

"Great, first your Uncle tries to ground you and now his setting you up on dates." He muttered as Duo stepped over their game of hangman, ducking the cuff the came in response.

Duo barely heard the comment, his eyes instead scanning the man before him. He wore lose black jeans with pockets down the legs and a dark red long sleeved shirt despite the heat. On his feet were a pair of ragged trainers that looked to be on their last legs but were well loved all the same.

Upon his entrance he'd removed a pair of heavy duty shades, the type issued to all colonists who went dirt side for the first time, as the natural light of the sun was damaging on eyes not used to it. His skin was pale, but not pasty.

He was in good health but had lacked exposure to ultra violet rays, another indication that he was space born. He had blondish brown hair, a shade lighter than Relena's that was tied back into a pony tail using what appeared to be an old strip of leather that had seen better days.

He was handsome and tall, standing at six foot with a swimmers build; long, lean and graceful.

The man stood still for the inspection, a faint smile tugging a one corner of his lips. He was someone to whom both smirking and sneering came naturally and whose face was set in a strong expression after enduring a life time of regret and harsh survival.

But his most remarkable feature was a pair of brown eyes so light they could only be classed as amber, eyes that shown with joy tinged with more than a hint of fear.

"I know you." Duo whispered softly, staring up at him across the three meters that separated them. The man smiled softly.

"Yeah, ya do. And just as a warning ta those clutching ya weapons, I ain't gonna use it on anyone." The man drawled calmly, eyes flicking to Trowa before glancing up at Heero who sat watching on his high perch.

Before Duo could ask exactly what he wasn't going to use, the man pulled something from under his shirt, from its resting place on his forearm.

A knife, or at least an improvised one, built out of a long and cruel looking shard of glass taken from the window of an abandoned building. It sat bound in to a slit made in a length of wood, held in place with tightly wrapped and tied string.

Despite its crude nature, the weapon looked deadly, ready to stab or slash into the flesh of any that might threaten its master.

Duo stared at it for a long while, eyes lingering on every detail, on how the clear glass had been tinted red from use, how its handle appeared worn, as though the hand that held it to the light now had held it and even made use of it many times in the past.

"Ya left this in my procession eight years ago kid, when ya ran off ta try an' save me life. Ya took mine with ya, an' I am very glad ta see it kept ya safe all these years."

Duo's face vaulted through an entire range of emotions in a matter of seconds. First shock, then pain at the memory and lastly pure un-alliterated joy.

He managed to moan the word 'Solo' before flinging himself physically at the man that stood before him, who had quickly passed the cruel looking knife to Howard for safe keeping.

Solo caught the flying fifteen year old in his arms easily and lifted him straight off the ground with no apparent effort, high enough that Duo could wrap his legs around Solo's narrow waist, crushing them together in a hug that knocked the breath out of both of them.

Solo lowered them both to the ground, settling the sobbing teen into his lap, ignoring the confused stares of the four pilots as they watched their youngest member break down completely, held in the shelter of the newcomers arms.

There would be plenty of time for introductions and explanations later but for both of the former street urchins the world had narrowed down to include only the most necessary sensations, as it had years ago in their struggle for survival.

There was only the warmth of arms wrapped around them, the tickling of breath against bare skin and the trickling of long suppressed tears from unusual eyes that had just beheld the only thing that could make their soul complete.

For whatever reason, eight years ago fate had decided to separate two that were destined to be everything to each other, be it parent, child, best friend, teacher, student and eventually, after time, lover.

And for the same reason it decided to reunite them eight long years later.

The reason?

It could have been an intricate plot, designed by the Powers themselves to test their bond and strengthen their love, for to retain love even after death shows true commitment. Or it could have been due to some cruel unintended twist that served no other purpose than to make those involved suffer.

And perhaps fate is just a sucker for a happy ending.

Owari.


End file.
